


The Heart of the Game

by ophelia_hamlet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, F/M, Fem!Watson - Freeform, Genderbending, Jane Watson - Freeform, rewriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophelia_hamlet/pseuds/ophelia_hamlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene has played everyone. Including Jane Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart of the Game

The Heart of the Game

The Bitch smiles at her from the top of the stairs. Usually, Jane is not a huge fan of the term, being a woman herself and knowing how much it could hurt. But fuck, the Woman deserved it to the last letter of the word. 

She is exiting the plane, Mycroft and Sherlock behind her, both silent and looking subdued. The Woman finally reaches the ground, her excruciatingly expensive high heels tip-taping on the tarmac. 

Jane does not wear high heels, unless being forced to (her mother, her sister and occasionally Sherlock, for a case). Once she went to a date with an old pair that her sister had lent her (forced in her hands) the day before. She almost fell three times, actually fell once and punched her date (Damien or David) when he laughed at her. She did not bother to check on Sherlock that night, already hearing a mental “I told you so” while going up the stairs, barefoot.  
Sherlock goes to her directly while Mycroft opens the door to the jaguar for Irene. 

_We’re going to my brother’s house to discuss the terms of Ms Adler’s cooperation. You don’t need to come.

Up close, he seems shaken and almost shameful. Of course, he would never admit to it, but Sherlock Holmes does not deal well with defeat. And this case has been even more nerve-wrecking than the others. He wants her to go because he does not wish for her to see him at his most vulnerable, defeated by the Woman while becoming a liability to his brother. He still thinks she puts him on a pedestal, unreachable and untouchable. The utter, narcissist idiot. Jane Watson may have been fooled when they first met but she isn’t blind. Sherlock Holmes is as human as they come. Perhaps even more so, considering he has to hide behind the comforting syllables of “high-functioning sociopath” to get away from the whole business of feeling.

Well fuck him if he believes she’s going to leave him one more second alone with that harpy, with Mycroft or not. She almost phrases it like that, but retain the words before they reach her tongue.

_Too bad for you, I really want to see the architectural horror your brother lives in. And I’ll be damned if I don’t get to drop one or two comments on his decorating skills. Also, I don’t trust her with you. Or Mycroft. So you can swallow your arguments for something more useful and make sure we get to ride in a different car from her.  
She gets a chuckle out of him and a look she labels as confusion. Good, she likes that she can still surprise him, even after a year of living together. He turns from her and talks to his brother, still waiting by the car in which Irene climbed in. He glances in her direction furtively but agrees to his brother’s request. Mycroft drops a word to his PA and a second black car comes in their direction. Jane feels a breath of relief coming out of her. At least, Sherlock won’t be alone to face the Adler woman. 

*

The ride in the car is a silent one. Sherlock looks out of the window, probably reliving the past few days and searching for a clue, a mistake, something that could have told him this was a set-up. Jane too, searches the horizon for answers but mostly comes up empty. She scolds herself for not having trust her instincts. She blindly followed Sherlock, not questioning his reasoning when he was clearly too involved with Adler. She should have known that he was in too deep for his judgment not to be scud or at least, not entirely objective. But she kept her mouth shut because she thought she was feeling threatened by the new woman. She was bold, intelligent, interesting and she made him think harder. A perfect match for Sherlock Holmes. Unusual, yes, but Sherlock was hardly your everyday man. And she did not want to play the jealous flatmate who couldn’t swallow her pride. 

Also, she misinterpreted the meeting at the power station. Irene was a good actress and she could not understand why Sherlock had not answered her text messages. Or rather, she did not want to look too hard into it. It had been a stupid mistake on her part. Both of them, they had been played like puppets at the end of complicated strings. 

She remembers the phone call from Mycroft. She was out, taking a walk, trying not to think to what was going on in the flat. She was also trying not to think why it bothered her too much (but really, who wasn’t fooling herself). Sherlock had never been one for carnal relationships, dismissing them as boring, predictable, and a waste of time. In other words, the contrary of Irene Adler. She just hoped his fancy would pass and their life in 221B would resume as before. The ring of her phone had startled her. She recognized it instantly as Mycroft’s, Sherlock having tempered with her mobile after his brother had refused to let him take a look at some classified files he needed for a case. From then on, each time the older Holmes called her, Sherlock’s voice resonated “Do not answer, it’s Mycroft. Do not answer, it’s Mycroft”. Childish, yes. Easily replaceable, yes. But the angry and desperate voice of Sherlock never failed to amuse her, so she never changed it. She remembers answering the call, trying not to sound too unpleased. 

_ Yes ?

_ I’m afraid Miss Adler has played us all. You might want to speak with my brother. Please get in the car. My PA will fill you in on the road.

To be frank, she did not know what to make of the call and she had trouble processing the information. Not that it surprised her, she never entirely trusted Irene, but she always assumed it went with the character rather than her motivations. Anthea, furiously typing on her blackberry, indicated that a file on Miss Adler and a classified operation were in the pocket in front of her and that she had to read it. And so she did, her face blanching as her mind was drinking up the information in front of her. When she was done, she felt like killing someone and throwing up at the same time. Fortunately, her self-control got over both feelings. Then she remembered Sherlock, alone in the flat with Her. Her words had not left her mouth that Anthea spoke up:

_ Don’t worry, he is with Mr. Holmes. No harm has come to him. But I’m afraid the discussion they are about to have won’t be a pleasant one. You might want to let them speak alone.

She wasn’t sure why Mycroft had called her in the first place but she was thankful for it. She would have hated hearing Sherlock coming home after this, not speaking to her and then having to hear it from his brother. At least, she could be of some support. The car passed a gate, went up an alley, just outside of London, and a Victorian estate house (at least she thought it was Victorian), came to view. She was right when she said it would be ugly. How could someone live in property like that? Mycroft was even stranger than she thought, but then, he was a Holmes.

She got out of the car and headed with Sherlock to the front door, Irene and Mycroft having arrived a few minutes before them. The butler (the butler!) took their coat and indicated “le petit salon” when asked about his employer’s whereabouts. After walking past a few armors and doors, Sherlock opened one of them and stepped inside, Jane just behind him.  
Mycroft was seated at a large wooden table, trying to remain calm and gathered. Irene was standing in front of the fireplace, looking at them, still smiling.

_ Ah, Dr. Watson, so glad you could make it. I specifically asked for your presence. I thought you might want to be part of our little get together. You don’t mind, I hope?  
Mycroft didn’t let her answer and indicated the chair in front of him.

_ If we could get started as soon as possible, I’d rather not linger in this room longer than necessary. I suppose you came prepared with a list of requests, Miss Adler. 

Sherlock made no comment and went to sit on one of the armchairs near the fire. Jane who couldn’t see the appeal of sitting, went by the window and leaned a shoulder against wall, watching them discuss the terms of her cooperation. Jane who thought she would be boiling with anger by now, found herself searching for an answer to a question she did not know how to formulate. Something in this picture was wrong. 

Before her, Sherlock was silent, deep into thoughts, much like during the ride to his brother’s house. At the table, Mycroft, his mask of confidence slowly melting away while Irene’s smile was growing, her fingers slowly caressing her phone. That bloody phone. If she listened to herself, she would throw it to the flames. But the possibility of people being in danger stopped her. She let a groan escape her. Sherlock got out of his reverie and when he looked at her, his jaw clenched. Then he got on his feet and went out of the room, leaving the door wide open.

_Was it something I said?

That was more than she could take herself and her last bit of self-control collapsed.

_ I think you should shut up and take the money Irene. That’s what you came to do, wasn’t it? 

_ Oh don’t be such a spoilsport Jane, surely you can allow a girl her bit of fun. I thought that was what you were doing with Sherlock. Although, I gather he is still denying you what you really want from him, am I right? I have to say I can’t blame you for trying to keep him for yourself, if I could I’d have him on a leash… In fact, I just might.

_ Is it only what is for you. A game? What do you really get out of it?

_ I forgot you were such a prude. Of course it’s just a game, Jane. But you already lost, and I’m not playing anymore. Now you have to pay up and pay well, or something bad might happen. And not the kind of bad I’d like to play with. That’s more Moriarty’s specialty. Actually, he is the one who gave me all these advices on how to play the Holmes boy. Playing you, my dear Jane, was just a bonus.

_ Ah yes, Mr. Moriarty, he has been asking for my attention, which I’m sure can be arranged.

She comes closer, ignoring Mycroft and whispering in her ear:

_Watching you deny your predictable little feelings for him. Do you think he doesn’t know? Oh my poor, poor Jane. He just doesn’t care.

She steps away from Jane and looks at Mycroft. 

_ Do you know how he calls you? The Iceman. And he calls Sherlock the Virgin, although I think he may be mistaken in that regard. I don’t think he named you at all Janie, but between you and I, it might just be for the best. And he didn’t even ask for anything, I think he just likes to cause trouble, now that’s my kind of man.

The last words struck Jane and she looks at Irene, smiling. 

“ I flirted at him. He never replied”

“Of course it’s just a game"

“My kind of man”

Oh yes, indeed.

Finally, the question she didn’t know how to ask comes into place. And the answer isn’t far behind. Why does someone go to such length for some favors and some money she could have gotten anywhere else? The Royal Family was ready to pay up. Surely they’re less dangerous than Mycroft Holmes. Or Sherlock. And there is her answer. Sherlock Holmes is the answer. She even starts laughing, because it’s all so simple, it’s childish. All his time it was staring at her face and she didn’t even notice. But then love is rarely obvious for the ones who are concerned.

_Something funny?

Irene looks distraught, she did not expect the woman she just humiliated to just start laughing for no reason.

_Oh dear, I think she finally lost it. You might want to take her somewhere else to calm herself, Mr. Holmes.  
Jane stops laughing and her face hardens.

_ I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you, Miss Adler. I think you had quite enough of fun. Now it’s my turn to enjoy myself. Because you see, the game was never a game, am I wrong Irene? There was nothing you left to chance, nothing where you thought you may even have lost. And that, Miss Adler, is not playing. We all thought you were the main player, but in fact you were the prize you set up for Sherlock, while Moriarty was watching from afar, pulling the strings. You want him. You want Sherlock Holmes. And you made sure no one got in your way. And certainly not me.

_Oh dear, you really think you can live up to my competition. Just look around you. You lost. And I won. And that’s all there is to it.

_And yet you’re not denying anything. Which means I’m right. You got carried away, you started to like him. Far more than you thought possible. But with Sherlock Holmes, as you know, there are no easy way to get his attention, and let’s not talk about his admiration. You wanted him to admire you. And so you did it the only way you thought possible. By humiliating him and beating him to his own game. Let me tell you something about Sherlock. He thinks sentiment is a weakness, an idea probably empowered by his asphyxiating older brother who couldn’t be bothered to deal with his child brother and started mocking him very early when his emotions got out of control. When I asked him how he described love, he told me it was the kind of sentiment found in the losing side, a chemical compound that literature romanticized and complicated for the weak minded. 

She reaches for Irene’s phone and starts typing the code.

_This is why you and I will never be on the same level. You will always choose to believe him, while I’ll always see right through it for what it really is. Fear of rejection and a profound lack of understanding. 

She enters the final letter and the phone unlocks. She hands it to Mycroft.

_You will never be able to compete with me when it comes to understand Sherlock Holmes. He may not love me but at least I don’t have to exert myself so that he knows I exist. Mycroft, please take this phone and let Miss Adler go. I think she caused enough trouble tonight. When Sherlock comes back, tell him everything has been cared for. 

Irene reaches for her wrist.

_Don’t tell him. Please. Everything I’ve said. It wasn’t real. I was just playing the game.  
Jane puts her hand on Irene’s

_The game is over Irene. Go back to Moriarty. And get out of our lives.

_He’ll kill me.

_Yes. But that’s not like I care.

Jane turns from her and walks out of the room as fast as she can and heads for the cars. Outside, Anthea is still waiting in one of the back seats, still typing on her mobile phone.

_Get me back to 221B.

_ Are we not waiting for Mr. Holmes?

_ No, he’ll take another car.

*

Sherlock is in the billiard room, waiting for everything to be dealt with when he hears the car leaving the property. He goes back to check on his brother and Jane, when he finds Irene on the armchair he previously occupied, completely distraught, her eyes red and her hands shaking. Mycroft is in front of the fireplace, Irene’s phone in his hands.

_Where is Jane?

_Ah Sherlock! Your friend just left. Miss Adler will be staying a bit longer, I believe she is going to try to convince me not to let her die into the hands of Moriarty. Which I’m sure can be arranged. 

_I don’t understand. 

_No, I didn’t think you would. Dr. Watson has found the code to Miss Adler mobile phone and has been kind enough to share it with me. She is now on her way to 221B. I suppose you’ll want to head back as well. You may take the car.

Sherlock looks at Irene, who avoids his gaze, and leaves the room before coming back:

_What was the combination?

Mycroft has a slight smile:

_Oh Sherlock, I don’t think you want to hear it from me. Why don’t you ask you flatmate? Oh, and do hurry back to 221B, or I believe you’ll miss her.

Sherlock is gone before he hears the end of the sentence.

*  
Baker Street seems strangely cold when Jane arrives. Mrs. Hudson has gone to bed a long time ago and the flat is dark when she enters it. She quickly gathers her laptop and a few books belonging to her and goes up to her room where she grabs her suitcase. She knows he won’t allow a flatmate that cannot control her sentiments toward him, so she prefers to save some time and pack now so she won’t have to go through a painful conversation with Sherlock. She’ll just leave a note and-

_What are you doing?

She jumps, startled by the voice behind her. She did not hear him open the door or coming up the stairs. Damn that man and his fucking habit on sneaking up on people.

_What does it look like I’m doing. I’m packing up.

_Why?

_I’m sure you already know the answer to that question.

_No, I don’t. Tell me.

_Look, I’m saving us both time by not having a conversation and leaving before it gets too strange. It’s for the best.

Sherlock takes her suitcase from the bed and throws it down the stairs while Jane cries his name in protest. He closes the door.

_Now that you’re not doing something else, maybe you’ll listen to me and answer my question. Why are you leaving? Is it something I’ve done?

Jane stops trying getting through the door and looks expectantly at him.

_You mean, he hasn’t told you? Mycroft didn’t explain what happened?

_He told me that you found the code and that I should hurry back here if I wanted to catch you before you left. That’s all he said. What was the code, Jane?

Fucking Bastard. Of course he would leave that to her. 

_Look, why don’t you ask you brother and let me finish here? I promise you I have a very good reason for leaving and it’s not even your fault.

_Tell me the code, Jane.

_I can’t. If I tell you, you will look at me differently and I can’t do that. I’m not brave enough. I’m sorry. You’ll have to ask your brother.

He grabs her and pines her against the door, making sure she can’t escape. At least not without hurting him more than necessary.

_TELL ME. Why won’t you tell me?!

_Because if I tell you, you’ll know immediately how I cracked it. How only I could know how to find the code and I can’t allow that. Not while I’m still here. Please, let me go, I don’t want to hurt you.

_You would already have done so if you wanted out. We’ll stay like that all night if we have to, but I am not letting you out of this room until you’ve told me. Give me the bloody code, Jane !

A tear slips from her left eye, then a second from the other and she stops moving. She whispers:

_It’s you. You’re the code. Her phone was everything she had, everything she was and she chose your name to lock it.

Instantly, he lets go of her and takes a step away, everything coming into place in his mind. But of course! The game was too elaborated, too sophisticated. And Moriarty’s involvement, it could only mean… He looked at Jane again. She knew. She knew the code because of her feelings for him. She was trying to protect herself by leaving before he could hurt her. 

_Can I go now?

_No. You’re not leaving. I won’t allow it. I need you Jane. And I’m selfish. So you’re staying.

_What kind of heartless bastard are you? I just told you I love you and you’re making me stay with you because you can’t live without someone who doesn’t make you tea when you ask for it. I’m not staying, you can’t make me and I…

Her sentence died in her throat as Sherlock crashed his lips on hers. Jane tried not to answer to the kiss but her resolve quickly melted away when Sherlock began to slip a hand below her shirt while pressing the other on her back, closing the last remaining gap between them. Her arms went around his neck and one of her hand sneaked up in his hair, causing him to moan in her mouth. They finally hit the bed with Sherlock on top of her, smiling at her.

_I told you, I’m selfish. I’m not letting you go. You’re never going to leave me. I want you Jane. In every way I can and for as long as you’ll allow it. I’ve been falling for you since you shot a man for me and I’m afraid I’ll never be able to recover from it. So if you’ll have me, I’ll get you out of these clothes, make love to you, cry your name while you cry mine and after that we’ll resume our lives like before, with the only difference that we’ll sleep in the same bed and that I’ll make a point to have you on every surface of the flat. What do you think?

Jane stared at him. He was on top of her, flushed and breathless, his hand far up her shirt and his pants looking suddenly too tight. So Jane said the only thing she could say:

_Does that mean I still have to make you tea?

Sherlock laughed and instead of telling her to shut up, kissed her into silence.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This was a first fic and there was no beta. Leave a comment to tell me what you think of it. Thanks !


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